


To Those Who Believe

by niseag, rockethop



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Parallel Universes, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niseag/pseuds/niseag, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockethop/pseuds/rockethop
Summary: They say there’s always a reason that people come into your life at the moment they do, but Ben Wyatt would tell you that’s all a load of Hallmark crap. He should know. He’s an expert on the subject. He’s met Leslie Knope a thousand times and he still doesn’t understand why. He wonders if he ever will.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 13
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

There’s something uncanny about Pawnee.

Maybe it’s just that every small town in the beige wasteland of rural Indiana is beginning to blur together after all these years on the road. Maybe every highway exit, every offramp and every rundown motel in the industrial side of town is the same as every other one when you strip everything else away.

Town melts into town and all the landmarks and the scenery and the details become so tangled that it’s sometimes impossible to pick them apart. They’re all one town in the end, one town with the same people and the same problems.

The offices at city hall look familiar, but all city halls start to look the same when you’ve visited enough of them. Their floor plans are different, but they’re fraternal, like cousins or sister tongues. Some of the offices have these awful murals, others have abstract art better suited to the walls of a mom and dad diner on some godforsaken interstate. There’s something just a little odd about all of them, but it’s something that makes them kindred rather than setting them apart; it’s a consistent, reliable oddness, like an eccentric uncle at Thanksgiving. 

It’s easy to dismiss the feeling of sameness at first. The highway, the town, the building. It’s just part of the job.

And if some of the murals look a little too familiar, it’s only because the atrocities committed against Native Americans go far beyond the bounds of Wamapoke County.

***

Things get stranger when he starts having meetings with leadership and the department heads. 

Ben bites his tongue before he asks the City Manager about his heart problems, remembers he’s never met this man in his life, thinks he must be thinking of Paul La Paglia from Fulton. He’s not sure why he can picture the shoeshinist in aviator sunglasses or why he thinks the balding man whose shoes he’s shining might be a little pretentious. 

It’s possible that people, as well as places, are beginning to blur together in his mind. And it’s an unsettling thought, one he’ll have to sit with later on, but for now it is enough to let him take the feeling and put it aside so he can go about his day.

The morning gives way to afternoon as he and Chris work their way down the organisational chart in the same way they always do, executing their well-rehearsed farce, a perfectly timed repartee that Ben is really beginning to tire of. Department head after simpering department head takes the news about the budget cuts with anxious resignation and it’s just like every other first day in every other town he’s ever been to.

He’s not expecting anything different when they reach the Parks Department as the sun is starting to dip in the midafternoon sky. 

Ben follows Chris inside at a slow saunter, lagging behind as usual while Chris bounds up to the department heads. He looks around and finds the room empty except for a compact, no-nonsense man and an overeager blonde. Something bizarre happens when his gaze settles on her for the first time that day and he catches her eye.

He remembers her.

He couldn’t tell you how or why or where they could possibly have met, but he knows those eyes. He’s seen them in a thousand lights, under fluorescents and by flickering candle flame and sunsets and the moon.

He knows what her arms feel like around his neck, knows how the warm, smooth curve of her waist feels against his palm. He knows she smells like maple syrup, like kept promises and destiny.

And he doesn’t even know her name.

***

Ben doesn’t want to go on the fucking tour. He’s gripping his briefcase so tightly his fingers are numb, he’s carrying so much tension in his chest he thinks he might shatter. He wants to get out of here.

He knows her eyes, knows her voice, knows he’s seen her _somewhere_ before. Or maybe he doesn’t, maybe he’s never met her before in his life and he’s simply losing his mind. Either way, there is something about Leslie Knope. He hasn’t even spoken a word to her but she’s inside his head.

If he was a romantic kind of person maybe he’d think he’s experiencing some kind of love at first sight, but he’s not romantic in the slightest, hasn’t been for a long time, and it’s not _first sight_ that’s bothering him.

It’s the sensation that this isn’t _first sight_ at all. And it’s not having any rational explanation for why. Ben doesn’t do gut feelings or intuition. Ben does balance sheets and algorithms and evidence-based decision making. And none of this adds up to anything that makes even a semblance of sense.

He goes on the tour because he can’t say, “I already know where your desk is,” or “I think I’m going to throw up,” or “I’m sorry, Chris. I need a moment. I’ve lost my mind.”

He meets the rest of the staff briefly and again he has a sense that he knows them already, in the same way he thought he knew the shoeshinist and the man from sewage. There’s a clumsy, genial older man who Ben might have sworn was wearing a stained sweater vest, but when he blinks the vest is clean and a lighter shade of grey than it was a moment ago.

There are a couple of administrators who seem very subdued as he passes their desks, but when Ben turns away his mind is filled with flashes of morning mimosas and laughter and wanton excess.

And then there’s her. This scrawny, dark haired girl hunched behind her computer, picking at her nails, not even affecting the appearance of interest in Ben and Chris and what their presence here means for a young woman, early in her career with very few benefits accrued. Not much of a liability to offload, an easy cost saving if they need one _(and he’s pretty sure they will)._ She ought to be more worried than she seems, but she just sits there, staring at a blank screen. After a moment she looks up, eyes dark and biting, and the hair stands up on the back of Ben’s neck.

He swallows hard. Turns sharply on his heel and hurries past, lengthening his strides to catch Chris.

***

He’s not sure how things go so horribly wrong so quickly, but he is sure that he’s not supposed to be thinking about how Leslie Knope tastes like whipped cream and caramel as she’s calling him a jerk and insisting that Pawnee City Hall has feelings.

If he takes a step back and looks at this whole situation, he actually thinks she’s going to be a massive pain in the ass. She has the look of someone who won’t let go, gives him the impression of a yappy little dog who wants to play fetch but won’t let the ball be thrown. Wants to run services but doesn’t want to do what’s needed to keep the government itself afloat.

She’s idealistic. Naive. 

She reminds him of himself at eighteen and there’s something kind of intolerable about it, that someone can be her age, a grown adult, and still be so full of this ridiculous kind of willful ignorance. It takes some audacity, some nerve.

Ben has done this job for eleven years and he’s had pushback, of course—there have been shouting matches and tantrums and rotten eggs and death threats and nights spent in hotel rooms three towns over for his own personal safety—but there’s never been anyone who’s fought him on sheer principle, seemingly without concern for their own dignity or future. Leslie Knope has no business being so sincere, so goddamn hopeful when the spark has long died for everyone else around her. And yet here she is, doing it anyway. An improbable rose in the snow, thorns and all, thriving against all the odds. 

And here he is, captivated in spite of himself, not exactly understanding why. Perhaps it’s all her, the impossible roman candle spitting and burning in front of him, but he really can’t be sure that it doesn’t have anything to do with this strange sense that he knows her. The quiet, nagging inkling that he remembers the feel of her lips butterflying against his, the taste of her vanilla sigh in his mouth. 

And he’s not supposed to remember kissing a woman he only just met. He’s not supposed to think about kissing a woman he’s probably going to have to fire at all.

Perhaps it was only a matter of time before Ice Town finally drove him crazy.

***

He gathers his things and leaves, sits down in front of the numbers because the numbers will always make sense.

But all he can think about is how she smells like the future.

***

Chris insists they go to the party and Ben only puts up half the fight he ought to.

Because if he’s already halfway crazy over this then staying up all night alone, wondering, theorising and coming up short is going to finish the job.

He’s going to work out what’s going on here. Perhaps he met her at a college party a long time ago, perhaps he’s thinking of someone else entirely who just looks a little like her. _(He’s not going to think about how he never has been one for blondes, or about how a drunken teenage hookup still couldn’t explain the cascading reel of memories of her in a thousand places and a thousand times.)_

He’s going to talk to her and he’s going to get to the bottom of this and then he’s going to bury every memory of today, go back to cutting budgets and repenting the sins of years long gone. 

He’s not going to think about kissing her again.

He’s not going to lose it.

***

Ben doesn’t make the connection between April Ludgate and the dark haired girl from the Parks Department until she throws him off his game the moment he sets foot inside the Snakehole Lounge.

“Ugh,” she says, glowering up at him from the shadows by the entrance. “You again, already.” She’s so slight, such a wisp of a thing, but she has a looming presence. Anxiety thrums through him like a bassline. “Are you gonna make the same dumb mistakes this time too?”

He’s not sure what it is she means exactly or how to respond, but an unnamed dread ripples over his body, cool sweat beading at the back of his neck and on his forehead. Before he can even open his mouth to breathe a nervous sigh, she whirls in place, dress not so much as shifting in her wake as she vanishes into the crowd.

***

He finds his way to the bar, orders his usual beer and barely has time to take a sip before Ron Swanson approaches to thank him for his noble service to the people of Indiana. Ben gets stuck making small talk with Ron and the office manager while he scans the bar for Leslie Knope. He locates her, eventually, tucked into a booth with another woman and he doesn’t waste a second breaking from Ron and Donna to head over.

“Hello Ben,” she says icily, holding her hand out like she’s nobility. He takes it awkwardly, immediately remembers how her fingers feel against his and drops it like he’s been burned, clutching his windbreaker like the feel of the fabric will erase the false memory.

He barely gets a full sentence out before Leslie interrupts him, scathing.

“Yeah, well save your breath, okay?” she says sourly. “Just get out of here. Because this is a party with my friends and you’re trying to fire all my friends.” Okay, so he’s pretty sure she couldn’t hate him more if she tried. “You’re a cold, callous person,” she continues, and Ben winces inwardly. Because worse than the insanity of this day—worse than being rebuffed when he really just wants to work out where he knows her from, why she’s so familiar—worse than all of that, he thinks she might not be wrong, and something that might have been hope collapses in on itself inside of him.

“Sorry to bother you,” he mutters, retreating.

“Get out of here!”

He does. He goes quietly, doesn’t say goodbye to Chris, just walks out of the bar like he’s a ghost himself.

***

Ben picks up a six-pack of beer on the way back to the motel. He drinks four and falls asleep in front of a baseball game on the couch.

When he wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, still half-drunk, he doesn’t know if the vision of Leslie Knope in his bed is a memory or a hazy, half forgotten dream.

***

She comes to him in the morning, looking no better than he feels. Makes an attempt at an apology, gets halfway through before she decides she doesn’t like the way Ben is telling her that her city council is making bad decisions and tells him without mincing a single word that she doesn’t appreciate his callous attitude.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really.”

“Okay.”

“You may hold my fate in your hands like a small bird,” she says, “but I still think you’re an ass.”

He pauses. Sees that insane, incorrigible spirit again—and he sees a chance to get her alone and try to work out what the hell is going on without shitty club music or April Ludgate’s unsettling leer on his back or Chris doing pull-ups in the background.

“Wanna get a beer?”

For the first time since he met her, she stops. Blinks. “It’s like, ten-thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah. You seem like you could use a beer. Let’s get a beer.”

***

“Wow. That tastes really good.”

“Mm.” He puts his beer down. “How’s your head?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, deciding how honest to be with him. “Mushy,” Leslie admits, setting her bottle on the bar. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you. All three times. But I don’t think you know anything about my department,” she says, looking at him intently. “Have you ever been part of a government body before?”

“Uh, I have,” Ben says with a wry smile. “Yeah. In a small town called Partridge, Minnesota.”

He takes a drink to fill the silence as Leslie looks at him like she might be really seeing him for the first time, face scrunching in confusion as she grasps at the air, searching. “Why does that sound familiar?” Something in him tightens, coiling in some half-formed hope that she’s about to admit to recognising him too. He leans in closer, waits to see if this is it.

And then Leslie’s eyes light up. “You’re Benji Wyatt?” she asks quietly.

“I am.” Anticipation tightens like violin strings in his chest.

“Oh my god,” she says, face alight in wonder. “You were so _cute!”_

“Oh, well thank you.” Right. No, of course. Leslie Knope who has a wall of inspirational women and a shelf stacked with political biographies would have followed his campaign when she was a kid. Of course she would have. But did they ever _meet_ one another?

“God, I was so jealous of you.”

What he wants more than anything is to ask if she ever visited Partridge, if they ever crossed paths. But he doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t have been,” is what he says. “I mean, it ended up kind of ruining my life. I mean, now I’m balancing budgets so I can show people that I’m responsible so that I can run for office again someday and not be laughed at, you know?” He’s been atoning for being an idiotic eighteen year old for so many years, running on fumes of the hope he might be able to be something again one day. “I mean, you want to run for office some day, right?”

“Yeah,” Leslie says, looking at him quizzically. “How’d you know?”

He blusters past the question because he doesn’t have an answer for it. It’s one of these things about her that’s just _there,_ lodged in his mind, next to the knowledge that she grows lemons and is afraid of bees and wants to be President of the United States. “Well, you have to be able to make decisions like this, Leslie. You have to be harsh, you know? No one’s going to elect you to do anything if you don’t show that you’re a responsible grown-up.”

“Yeah,” she says, sounding a little sad. It shouldn’t take him by surprise, because this tone usually comes out in the first five minutes of his acquaintance with government workers, because he’s used to beating them into submission. But it does. Because this is the first sign she’s shown of being capable of relent, and he’s not sure he likes it.

If he couldn’t stay starry eyed and hopeful, if no other public servant he’s ever met has been capable of it, he kind of thinks maybe it’s her place to carry the torch for the rest of the grey and defeated world.

He sighs. Reaches into his pocket, grabs his wallet. “Well.”

But then she’s back. “Oh, no, please, Mr. Mayor,” she smiles, “let me.” Leslie pulls out her credit card and slaps it down on the bar, grinning. _“Whoomp! There it is!”_

Fuck. Maybe it’s the beer going to his head, but he thinks he might actually like her.

***

Ben plucks up some courage as they’re walking back to City Hall, tries to find out a little more. “So you followed my campaign, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Leslie says, cheeks flushing a little pink. “Since you let me in on the secret, I suppose I ought to admit I had your picture in my locker. You were kind of my hero, you know?”

“Oh?” He ignores the heat rising in his face, telling himself it’s just the alcohol on top of a hangover.

“Yeah. You know, seventeen year old me was kind of in love with Benji Wyatt, ” she teases. “It’s too bad you turned out to be such a mean jerk.”

There’s laughter on her lips as he turns his head towards her too quickly.

And in this moment, he knows.

He knows Leslie. He does. He knows everything about her. The freckles on her chest, where her father is buried, the name of the dog she never owned but begged her mother for, knows she gives speeches in her sleep. He’s so fucking in love with her he thinks it’s going to kill him a thousand times over but he can’t remember where they met.

His head spins, his vision blurs at the edges and the golden sun reflecting off the sidewalk is suddenly too bright, too blinding, it’s everywhere all around him and carrying him away.

He’s standing in a drunken fishbowl as the glass shatters, light spilling and refracting and piercing through him, sunburst fractals breaking into dust breaking into nothing, giving way to bleak, empty space as the ground falls away, the sky crumbles and he begins to plummet into harsh, cold, godforsaken nothingness.

The last thing he sees as the world breaks apart is Leslie Knope’s smile.


	2. Nothing Except Vanilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued patience!! Here's seven thousand words to express my gratitude.  
> -Meg

This doesn’t feel right.

His head is pounding and his stomach feels queasy and  _ holy fuck, would it kill them to join the rest of the modernized world by switching the fluorescent lights for LEDs?  _

Perhaps under normal circumstances, the frustration would be a bit unwarranted, but the D.A.R.E. poster taped to the bathroom wall advertising sobriety feels too out of place. He sighs. He catches a glimpse of his face in the bathroom mirror and nearly jumps out of his skin. There’s absolutely no reason to think otherwise, but he swears that the last time that he saw his face, it wasn’t this youthful-looking.

That’s impossible, though.

He splashes his face with water from one of the sinks before throwing the door open.

The hallway is empty save for a middle-aged man occupying himself by fiddling with his watchband, The man’s eyes dart up upon hearing the bathroom door close and his face widens into a smile.

“Benjamin, just who I was looking for. I’m Mr. Matthews, I’m the vice principal at Pawnee North High School. I’m here to set you up with your peer mentor to help you transition to our school. She should be here by now, though. I’ve never known her to be anything less than punctual.”

Just as the words leave Mr. Matthews’ mouth, Ben hears the clicking of heels against the hard floor. She rounds the corner with haste and nearly collides with Ben before muttering an apology.

“Ah! Leslie!” Mr. Matthews cries gleefully. “This is Benjamin Wyatt, he just transferred from Partridge, Minnesota. This is Leslie Knope,” The man smiles. “This girl lives and breathes Pawnee. She’s student body co-vice president. You won’t find anyone finer for your peer mentor.”

“Well, maybe the student body president,” Leslie says sourly before presenting Ben with a tight smile.

Something about her seems off. Maybe it’s her pointed glare or her stiff shoulders or even her state of dress. She looks too put together in her blazer and matching dress slacks and he can’t remember the last time that he ever was that coordinated. Her name turns over in his head as he searches for a glimmer of recognition but the memories slip away from him like handfuls of sand escaping through his clenched fingers.

Mr. Matthews exits with a polite nod. “I’ll leave you to it, Leslie.”

They stand there awkwardly, surveying their surroundings and sizing each other up.

“Do you want a tour?” She says after the lull. She dips one of her manicured fingers into the binder that she’s holding.

“What? Oh. No, that’s fine.”

“I don’t mind, actually,” Her face comes to life with a newly found joy. “It’s kind of my responsibility as your peer mentor.”

He sighs. Evidently there is no way out of this except through.

She’s too loud - too chipper - for seven in the morning. She leads him through the convoluted twists and turns of the hallways whilst going on and on and  _ on  _ about the two most recent episodes of Secret Service (hosted by none other than President Ford’s son), past the massive paper banner demanding their presence at that week’s football game (seven pm kickoff at home - wear blue), mindlessly running the tips of her fingers against the textured wall when a flyer advertising the upcoming Debate Club meeting catches her attention. 

“Did your last school debate? You seem like you’d be really good under pressure.”

“Absolutely not,” he laughs, as if she’s crazy for even suggesting it, as if she should’ve known this about him. “I’m the worst under pressure.”

“Well you should still come out on Tuesday,” she says while pointing to the room number on the paper. “I’m the team captain. I can show you the ropes.”

He really wants nothing more than to put this conversation to bed, really wants to make some half-hearted excuse about being busy on a Tuesday afternoon, but she looks so eager to share this part of her life with him and how could you say no to a face like  _ that? _

So perhaps he agrees and maybe her eyes light up even more - if that were at all possible.  She grabs his hand in excitement and surely the tingling in his palm is the byproduct of improperly laundered clothing, saturated with static from brushing against each other over and over and over again in the monotonous hum of the dry cycle. It’s nothing more than that. It’s not her vanilla body splash wafting through the air and it’s not her curly hair bouncing in her side ponytail and it’s definitely not her gallantly pushing her fingers between his before dragging him further along on this tour that he has absolutely no interest in going on.

Except, well, maybe there’s  _ some  _ interest now.

***

“So,” Ben says later that day when they’re standing at her locker. “Student body vice president, captain of the debate team, is there anything else you’ve got under your belt?”

“I’m student body  _ co _ -vice president,” Leslie emphasizes before placing a textbook within the metal confines. “Along with key club, mock trial, the historical society, orchestra, color guard, JV field hockey, theatre, Young Democrats, and Model UN.” The words roll off her tongue fluidly as if she’s had a lot of experience citing her ever-growing list of accomplishments and extracurricular activities, but he’s incapacitated at the mention of simulated exercises in international diplomacy. 

“I’m sorry - what was the last one?” He asks.

“Model United Nations?”

He grimaces, but he’s not sure why. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you had said.”

Suddenly they’re twenty years older. She’s exactly the same but tangibly different, present and elusive and  _ too much  _ \-  _ too  _ abrasive,  _ too  _ demanding,  _ too  _ insensitive. And he’s not sure how he knows that this isn’t her first time pushing him too far, that it’s not the first time that she’s worn his patience thin and forced his hand. Images of a white flag and hushed conversations and screamed grievances cycle through his mind like a flashbulb.

And it becomes quite clear that the trace of longing that he feels is not a sensation that can be resolved through a mutually agreed upon draft resolution and eloquently worded closing statement.

***

None of it makes sense.

He doesn’t remember moving from Partridge to Pawnee. He can’t seem to remember anything from before this morning in the high school, in fact. The final bell sounds out, shrill and dismissive, and a bewildered Ben makes his way instinctively into the parking lot to a Saturn. The car appears more youthful than the last time he saw it, the paint more vibrant and the upholstery cleaner than usual, but perhaps it’s just a trick of the light. No, he decides with a shake of his head.

He’s just imagining things.

The drive home is uneventful. His mixtape completes nearly four songs before he pulls to a stop in front of the modest one story house when he’s overcome with curiosity. He treks up the walkway and through the front door into the house when it hits him.

It feels too clean.

The house is adorned with indications of a functional family unit living within the premises - appropriate furniture, matching dishware sets, and framed photos upon the walls - but Ben can’t shake the feeling of chaos that surrounds him. He’s half-inclined to check the freezer for envelopes when the front door opens and slams shut behind him.

“God,” Stephanie scoffs upon making eye contact with him. “Did you really leave the house looking like  _ that?”  _

“Steph,” Julia scolds while sorting through the mail. Ben glances down at himself.

“What’s wrong with this?”

_ “Plaid?!”  _ She shrieks and kicks off her sparkly jelly shoes before tossing her backpack to the floor. “You look like a Heather.”

“Really? Because I like to think of myself as more of a Veronica.”

Stephanie lets out a dramatic retch. “Don’t ruin Winona Ryder for me!” She pushes past him and locks herself away behind one of the bedroom doors. Ben turns to his mother.

“Anything good?”

“So far just bills,” she sighs. “Oh, Henry wrote. I wonder how he’s settling in at the dorm.” She hangs her jacket on the coat rack by the door and reaches for Stephanie’s backpack but is beaten to it by Ben. “Thank you.”

He sets off for his own room, dropping the pink backpack against Stephanie’s door with a thud along the way. He falls face-first onto the mattress and releases a groan.

What the hell was going on? Why did everything feel so familiar and yet so eerie?

He sighs and pushes himself up to his feet when the sight outside his window makes his stomach drop. He bounds out of the room and shouts something along the lines of being back in a moment before running down the sidewalk at a sprint, but it’s too late.

The dark haired woman is nowhere to be found.

***

“So word around here is that you’re good at calculus,” she announces to him during the passing period a few weeks later. “I’m fine in the subject but I’m in the top seven percent of the graduating class and I need all the help I can get if I’m going to stand a chance at valedictorian. So I’m thinking that we could study together after school on Mondays, starting today. What do you think?”

“I think your chances at valedictorian aren’t great if you’re only in the top seven percent.”

“Shut up. It’s only like twelve spots that I need to move up.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have plans.”

“I saw your Return of the Jedi shirt on Friday. I felt pretty confident.” She nudges him with her shoulder. Ben stops in the middle of the hallway, causing the sophomore boy behind him to brush past him with more force than necessary.

“Okay, first of all, Star Wars isn’t nerdy, it’s about friendship and found family taking on tyrannical oppressors, but because it’s in space everyone dismisses it as - okay, that’s not the point. You want me to tutor you?” Leslie shakes her head in affirmation. “What’s in it for me?”

“Pretty company and whatever snacks you want.”

“Fine.”

***

“E equals one-half.” Leslie boasts with the click of her pen. They’re sitting on the floor in Ben’s living room using the coffee table as a desk as they’re going over the assigned integration homework for calculus. Ben pops a handful of puppy chow into his mouth and brushes the powdered sugar from his fingers.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does,” Leslie protests.

“Leslie,” Ben starts but is cut off.

“I’m telling you, the answer is point five.”

“No, it’s not. Check your work.”

“Why don’t you check  _ your  _ work?”

“Fine, I’ll check my math and you’ll see that the answer is-” His face scrunches. “Oh my god, e equals zero point five.”

“Mhmm,” Leslie hums triumphantly and grabs some pieces of sugary cereal from the bowl in front of them.

“Okay, so e equals one-half. Whatever,” Ben grumbles while erasing his answer and quickly jots down the correct solution. “That’s one way of solving the equation but if you wanted you could find the antiderivative, but then you’d have to convert it to x and-”

“I’ll just stick to substitution, Ben.”

“That works too.” He pauses then turns to her in confusion. “You have a pretty good grasp on this stuff, it doesn’t really seem like you need my help.”

“That’s because I don’t,” Leslie replies sweetly. Ben’s eyebrows knit closer together.

“Then why’d you want to study together?”

“Well, you turned down my offer to come to the debate club meeting. Or at least, you didn’t show up, so I’m taking that as a no.” She closes her textbook and plops her notebook on top of it. “So naturally, I had to find some other way to see you.”

“Wait, so you never needed help in calculus? You did this to spend time with me?”

Leslie giggles. “See what I did there? Pretty sneaky.” She smooths the nonexistent wrinkles from her pants. “You’re pretty good at it too. You know, during the times when you actually get the answer right.”

“You think you’re so cute,” he looks pointedly at her but he can’t mask the amusement in his tone. Her laugh escapes her pink lips and forces its way into his chest, pulling his heart by the strings and coaxing it to create space for her.

“Have you ever considered doing something with math as a career?” Leslie asks earnestly.

“I’ve thought about maybe doing accountant work. Maybe something like a budget analyst. Numbers just make sense to me.”

“You should,” she smiles.

He reaches for the remote and prompts the boxy TV to turn on before settling on a cheesy coming of age sitcom when Leslie inches closer, rests her hand on his knee and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

_ Vanilla.  _

***

“Oh, hey!” Leslie beams when she looks up from her notes. She’s exactly where she said she’d be on a Tuesday afternoon: bunkered down in a mostly-empty science classroom on the second story of the back of the school. She hops off the stool at the front of the room and dismisses the kids eyeing the two of them with interest with a flail of her arms. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Yeah, well, me neither,” Ben shrugs. “I wanted to see if your offer still stood.” Her lips press together in a tight line in an attempt to subvert her growing smile.

“Yeah, always.”

“Cool,” he says and casts a glance at the gawking faces over her shoulder before turning back to her with sincerity. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Not at all. We were actually about to split into groups of three to do a mock debate. We just need to decide on a topic.”

“Leslie,” a soft-spoken freshman girl pipes up from the front of the room. “A few of us were talking this weekend and we were thinking that we could debate whether or not same-sex schools promote a better learning environment than co-ed campuses.”

Leslie’s quiet for a moment.

“Wow, that’s a really good topic,” she finally says. “Okay, well, you guys know the drill. I’ll be on Ben’s team to show him how the process works.”

He isn’t sure how it was decided that he, Leslie, and a tall junior boy would argue in favor of co-ed institutions, but before he can object to what’s happening, he’s standing behind a lab table with her by his side.

“So we’re going to push the angle that having both sexes in the same class doesn’t distract anyone but instead presents new and enriching experiences to the learning environment,” Leslie whispers.

It’s only when she gives his forearm a gentle, encouraging squeeze that he’s made aware of just how false their position in this debate truly is.

***

“She’s very nice,” Julia says while standing at the kitchen counter and tossing a salad. Leslie and Ben had just wrapped up their now twice-weekly routine of working on calculus homework and watching feel-good television before Leslie excused herself to work on a student council project at home.

“Yeah.”

“She’s pretty.

“Yeah…”

“She likes you.”

“I’m - I’m sorry?”

“When you guys were watching that program earlier,” Julia nods towards the living room with a point of her forehead. “She seemed really interested in your reactions to it.”

“That doesn’t really mean anything,” Ben shrugs but pedals back his defenses at his mother’s knowing stare.

“Go wash up for dinner, Benji.”

***

“We need something sexy,” her voice crackles from within the receiver. “Something like Ann Richards.” Even without a visual, Ben can tell she’s staring dreamily at her bedroom wall. It’s the Monday before the Friday night Halloween party and, in an uncharacteristic turn of events, neither of them has come up with an idea for their joint costume endeavor.

“Ann Richards is sexy?” He questions. “Leslie, she’s like... sixty.”

“She just turned fifty-nine, and I didn’t mean it like that,” she chastises. “There’s something so incredibly powerful about women that govern, especially as a liberal in a historically red state.”

“Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love,” he suggests.

“Veto. Too controversial.” Leslie’s quiet for a moment. “Danny and Sandy.”

“Grease? Veto.”

“Really? No Grease? Tell me more.” She laughs, evidently pleased with her play on words.

“After that? Absolutely not, no. You don’t deserve an explanation after making that joke,” he chuckles. “Bill and Hillary? Is that sexy enough for you?”

Leslie pauses and considers. “Well, that depends. Do you think you can pull off a Sexy Bill Clinton?”

“Wow, honestly, Leslie, I’m hurt. I’m offended.” She’s giggling furiously on the other end of the line and it just might be the most exhilarating, most gorgeous noise he’s ever had the privilege of hearing. “Just tell me the address of the party and you’ll see just how well I can pull off a sexy President Clinton.”

“Don’t jinx it, Ben,” she says in a suddenly earnest and hushed tone. “There are eight days left until the election.”

“I’m not going to jinx it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He doesn’t have an answer for her that doesn’t sound completely implausible. Deep within the recesses of his mind, the girl with the dark hair and cold eyes is giving him a staredown.

“Call it a gut feeling, I guess.”

***

_ ‘Have you seen a sexy Hillary Clinton?’ _ is a statement he never thought he’d make during his lifetime. He also didn’t anticipate asking it hundreds of times tonight with the entirety of his chest exposed. He had been wandering throughout the crowded house searching for Leslie with no success. He still wasn’t sure whose house this was, exactly (he thinks he heard someone say James but he swears that someone else said John’s parents were out of town this weekend). He manages to elbow his way through the crowd while dodging insipid conversation with people that he doesn’t care to get to know and is about to make his way up the stairs when someone crashes into him from behind.

“OH MY GOSH I’M SO SORRY!” The voice shouts. Even with the blaring grunge music and mindless chatter, the voice is several decibels higher than the noise surrounding them. He spins on his heel and his eyes narrow in on the assailant before recognizing Leslie. 

“Leslie!” Ben exclaims with a grin before he’s overtaken by confusion. “I thought you said we were going as sexy Bill and Hillary?”

“WHAT?”

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID-” he starts then realizes the absurdity of the situation. He rolls his eyes. “COME ON, LET’S GO UPSTAIRS.”

“I thought you said we were going as sexy Bill and Hillary,” he says after closing a bedroom door behind them. If the makeshift ‘keep out’ sign scribbled on a piece of torn-out notebook paper wasn’t already a huge indication of this being someone’s parent’s room, the floral wallpaper and matching oak wood furniture set was a dead giveaway.

“I did,” Leslie replies before twirling in the full length mirror. “This  _ is  _ sexy Hillary Clinton.”

He doesn’t know what she’s on about - she’s the epitome of modesty in her matching purple blazer and dress skirt, sheer black tights, and close toed heels. With her perfectly laid hair and pearl necklace, there’s nothing even remotely lascivious about her. Then it dawns on him.

“You can’t sex-up Hillary Clinton,” she says matter-of-factly. “She’s already sexy.”

“Oh my god,” Ben moans and swipes his hands over his face. He hastily buttons up his shirt, missing holes in the process. “I feel so stupid.”

“Wait, that was supposed to be sexy Bill Clinton?” Leslie goads before falling into a fit of laughter. “Oh my gosh, Ben. Ben, honey, no. I thought you were going to show up in a suit with one of those inflatable saxophones or something.” She wipes the tears from her eyes.

“No,” he protests. “I thought that you and  _ this,”  _ he waves a tiny American flag on a stick dramatically, “would be enough context. I guess I should’ve realized, considering it’s you.” Leslie chokes on her cackle.

“Aw, I’m sorry. You tried your best.” She reaches out to unbutton the top half of his shirt and then fixes the buttons on the lower half before loosening the tie around his neck. “There.”

She backs away ever so slightly but her hand lingers on his chest and he wonders if she can feel his heart hammering beneath her touch. He wonders if she had put as much effort into tonight as he had. He wants to know if she thought of him while brushing her hair and putting on her perfume.

Because he definitely thought of her.

He thought of walking around with her on his arm, making mindless conversation with people in the name of being polite. He thought of hugging her to him as they danced in a throng of intoxicated people, her hair brushing against his face and the weight of her hands around his neck. He thought of sneaking away with her at some point to press his lips against hers and see how far she would be willing to go with him.

Then he’d pulled his tie too tight and pinched the skin of his neck, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Leslie’s lashes flutter and she slips her thumb under the fabric of his shirt and a surge of adrenaline and confidence courses through Ben’s veins. He’d imagined this scenario countless times since she’d first grabbed his hand and he decides that he is done wondering what kissing her feels like. He grabs her dangling wrist and pulls her to him, his body quivering in one fleeting moment of hesitation before lowering his lips to hers.

She tastes like spiked punch and her strawberry Lip Smacker that he’d watched her put on a thousand times in their first period government class taught by Coach Williams and she  _ sighs - dear god, she sighs -  _ and Ben feels that he may just explode from joy on the spot. Poor Jimmy or Jason or Jeffrey’s parents are going to have to remove his remains from the wall with a paint scraper. Leslie peels away from him with ragged breath when the opening notes of Nirvana’s Stay Away rattles the floor underneath them.

“Come on, let’s go dance,” she smiles before leading him downstairs, her hand in his.

The bedroom door closes behind them with a thud and Ben knows in that moment what he’s had suspicion over for quite some time now - that he’s deeply, ridiculously, head over heels in love with Leslie Knope.

***

“It’s not fair,” Leslie groans while they’re walking through the courtyard. The amber and scarlet hued leaves crunch underfoot on the chilled Tuesday morning as Leslie clutches her caramel latte tighter in hopes of it transferring some of its warmth to her frigid hands. As much as she loves the social implications of her wearing one of Ben’s R.E.M. t shirts and flannels, it doesn’t offer her much protection from the gentle gusts of wind blowing past them. “You’re someone that’s actually informed on the candidates and their policies and you’re not able to vote because you were born a week too late.”

“Rules are rules, Leslie.” He motions for her hand and rubs it between in his palms to generate some heat. “It’s going to be fine.” She stops and turns to him.

“God, how can you be so blasé about this all? Eighteen year olds are idiots! I’m telling you, someone’s going to write in a character from that Disney movie.”

“Beauty and the Beast?”

“Yeah.”

“Well Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson did make one hell of an argument,” Ben concedes. Leslie gives his shin a gentle tap with the toe of her shoe.

“Stop it! You’re being a jerk.”

He kisses her - whether for his own benefit or hers, he’s not entirely confident - if only to get her to stop obsessing over poll numbers and voter turnout statistics (and it’s entirely beside the point, but he agrees, Election Day should be a federal holiday).

“Relax,” he whispers and pulls the ends of his flannel to a close around her torso. “Perot’s going to split the conservative vote. It’ll be Clinton by a landslide.”

“You’re only seventeen, you don’t know anything.” 

“You  _ just  _ said it’s not fair that I don’t get to vote today.”

“Hush. You better be right about this. I don’t want to watch some idiot from  _ Texas  _ win tonight - Bush  _ or _ Perot,” she says with disgust. Ben gives the flannel a final tug.

“I want this back eventually, you know that, right?”

“But it’s so soft and it smells like you.”

He rolls his eyes, not unkindly, before they set back off towards the indoors again.

***

The votes are being tallied in real time as they sit in Leslie’s living room eating popcorn. Sure enough, Bill Clinton is blowing Perot and Bush out of the water.

“Poor Perot,” Leslie sighs and rests her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“He had to have known this would be the result, Leslie. Independent candidates never get enough electoral college votes to win the election.”

“I know, I just feel so bad for him. Surely he must’ve thought he’d get at least  _ one  _ state’s electoral votes.” She’s quiet for a moment as if considering the feelings of every libertarian currently in mourning. “I should found a Young Independents club at school.”

“Leslie.”

“I know, I know, I know. But if it gives a space to even just one person to feel welcome in their ideologies, it’ll have been worth it.” She turns her attention back to the TV. “Do you think Coach Williams will be the sponsor for it?” Ben cackles.

“After his ‘taxation is theft’ rant? Oh yeah.”

***

Ben barely has time to transition his Saturn into park before Leslie flings herself out of the car.

“Come on, come on, come on!” She shouts while setting off for the trail access point at a jog.

Ben shakes his head amusedly before stepping out onto the gravel and bounding after her. He chases her through the unpaved terrain and the sparse trees, following her laugh up hills and past the dried creek, his heart and the crickets thrumming louder and louder in his ear as he inches closer, nearer, almost within reach of her. Leslie skids to a stop at a clearing along the trail and releases an involuntary yelp of surprise as she realizes she’s in a state of controlled freefall before pushing herself up from the ground, her and Ben’s laughs mingling in the crisp November evening air. His hand slips under her sweatshirt and finds the swell of her hip, panting and grinning. She smiles sweetly.

“Did you just tackle me?”

He pushes the hair from her face and presses his lips to her cheek. “It’s a possibility.”

“Ah,” Leslie hums. “Well,” she says and pushes the two of them to a sitting position, “I’m going to choose to ignore your  _ unceremonious  _ interruption.”

“Oh I’m the worst, aren’t I?” He quips.

“Easily,” she giggles and smooths a crease in the spread blanket that they fell to. “Happy birthday, Ben.”

“When did you have time to do all this?” Ben asks.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“More like a madwoman.”

“Mean,” she scoffs.

“I’m kidding. I love it, thank you.”

Leslie stares at him just a moment too long, just a little too reverently, before reaching behind herself for the backpack that she’d left behind earlier in anticipation for this evening.

“Well, it’s just your luck,” she continues and fishes out a pair of binoculars from the bag. “There are no clouds. The moon isn’t visible. And,” she says while pushing the binoculars into Ben’s hands, “there’s no light pollution out here.”

He accepts her offering graciously but he doesn’t need the extra magnification to admire the true subject of his fascination. He doesn’t need, or even necessarily want, to gaze at the celestial stratosphere to unearth further appreciation for the universe and the forces that cause the sea to dance along the shore and the sun to rise from beyond the horizon in the morning. He doesn’t need to know who or what created the mountains and carved the canyons and spilled the stars across the night sky. He doesn’t need to understand the circumstances that led him to her nor the reasoning behind the underlying familiarity.

There is Leslie Knope, and that alone is enough.

He’s able to find Polaris with gentle encouragement and guidance from Leslie. She draws his attention to Cassiopeia’s five prominent stars that anchor it to the night sky and prompts him to scan down towards the right until his attention is caught by a faint, hazy blur.

“What’s that?” Ben asks and twists the nob so that he can get a closer look.

“That’s the Andromeda galaxy,” Leslie says softly. “Sometimes when I get overwhelmed and it feels like the whole world is against me, I like to look up and be reminded of how small I am. I’m just a speck in time and space, just like everyone else. And I don’t know, sometimes that’s just really comforting.”

“Leslie, you’re not just a speck.”

“I know.” She says, but her attention’s occupied by her quest to retrieve something else from the backpack’s large pocket. She pulls two off-brand wine coolers out from the bottom and tosses one of the glass bottles to Ben before twisting the lid off her own with a wince. “But isn’t it nice to believe, even just for a second, that your existence doesn’t matter? That you could disappear and the world would keep turning? We’re so little, Ben, so insignificant to this universe and the next one over and every universe after that.”

Her statement catches him off guard.

“You think that there are multiple universes?” Ben asks her before taking a large swig from his bottle. He grimaces at the overbearingly sweet taste that is trying to compensate for the presence of cheap alcohol.

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” Leslie replies simply. “Multiple universes or not, though, I’m just amazed that we can see something two and a half million light years away. Just think about how many of the stars that loom over us have already died out and we’ll never know. It just takes that long for the light to travel to us.”

He turns his bare eyes back up to the illuminated sky and reconciles with the ache in his heart.

He wonders how much time he has with Leslie until they collapse in on themselves and burn out, leaving nothing behind but darkness.

***

It’s dark in the room and he can hear erratic footsteps approaching, crescendoing until the door flies open and bounces off the wall with a bang. Three small children jump onto the bed and tumble around him, giggling and writhing and beckoning him out of bed at an ungodly hour. If he looks past their tiny heads he can make out the blur of the Christmas lights in a house that isn’t his. His faceless bedfellow sighs and makes to roll closer to him when the fog lifts and he wakes up in his bed in Partridge, Minnesota to his father banging on his door.

***

“What’s it like to have two Christmases?” Leslie asks him when he’s back at his mother’s in Pawnee a few weeks later.

“It’s weird,” Ben admits. “You know how when people ask you what you want for Christmas and suddenly you can’t remember anything that you’ve ever wanted? It’s like that, but twice.”

“That’s horrible,” she laments.

Ben suddenly grows impish. “Yeah, well, it’s twice the amount of useless stuff that you’ll never use! I don’t know, I guess I never really had a lot of experience having just once Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s better this way.” He grabs a mini candy cane off of the coffee table and crunches it between his teeth. “I missed you, though.”

A small smile forms at Leslie’s lips and she kisses him sweetly.

“What was that for?” Ben asks.

“I didn’t get my New Year’s kiss.”

***

“I’ll be back later this evening,” Marlene says while rifling through her purse for her keys. 

“You don’t have MLK day off, mom?” Leslie asks from the couch.

“No, Leslie,” Marlene sighs with a shrug of her shoulders. “We never do, I don’t know why you thought this year would be any different.” Leslie deflates.

“I know. I guess I just thought that since it was my birthday that maybe-”

“Civil service doesn’t take a-”

“Doesn’t take a holiday, I know.”

“Or a birthday, sweetheart. We’ll go to JJ’s for dinner, I promise.” She leans down and presses a kiss to Leslie’s temple before making her way towards the door. “And Ben.”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Keep it in your pants - unless you prefer the alternative.”

“The alternative?” He questions then hastily adds, “Ma’am.”

“Castration.” Marlene shuts the front door. Ben swallows anxiously before turning back to find Leslie glowering at her breakfast.

“What’s wrong?”

“She doesn’t pay attention,” Leslie says sadly and gesticulates to the waffles in front of her that Ben had brought from JJ’s. “Even if it’s right in front of her.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight,” Ben agrees. “But she knows you love JJ’s. That’s something, right?”

“JJ’s was my dad and I’s spot. He’d take me there before every first day of school. He always said that JJ’s had the best waffles in all of Indiana - and he’d been all over the state, so I believe him.” She sniffles and blinks furiously. “But then he died. And when I finally worked up the strength to go back she ordered us pancakes.”

A strangled noise escapes her throat and Ben’s heart drops to his stomach. She sobs, gut-wrenching cries complete with tears cascading down her face, then she stops. It’s silent for a moment then she’s back, this time maniacally laughing at the situation. 

“That woman ordered  _ pancakes,  _ Ben.” She dries her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “God, I love her, I really do, but she just makes… the absolute bare minimum effort.”

The air hangs thick and heavy over them and Ben can hear the mechanical whirl of the heating unit humming in the background. He reaches into his backpack and retrieves a box covered in happy birthday wrapping paper and hands it to Leslie.

“It’s not much, but… yeah.”

Leslie smiles weakly at him before tearing into the paper, unveiling a projector that promises to cast the night sky on her ceiling.

“Ben,” she gasps.

“So you can see Andromeda any night that you want to,” he says simply. She grins, thoughts of her mom’s wilful ignorance forgotten at the sight of the tiny machine in her hands. She launches herself into his lap, kissing him with fervor and tangling her fingers in his hair. “Leslie,” he gasps when he manages to break away from her.

“Benji, come on. We’re both of age now. Let’s just fool around a bit.”

“Did you not hear what your mom said?”

“She didn’t mean it,” Leslie pouts.

“I don’t want to be the one to find out.”

“Okay,” Leslie attempts a smile. “But can we still test this out right now? I really want to see it.”

***

They were supposed to be studying for their government exam, but instead they were in his bedroom listening to R.E.M.’s Out of Time on cassette and sharing kisses - chocolate and otherwise. Leslie’s hands keep teasingly brushing over Ben’s belt as she straddles him, rife with indecision. Either that, or she knows exactly what she is doing and is choosing to be cruel, Ben thinks. His thumbs trail up her back and brush over the clasp of her bra as he kisses her and she giggles, arches her back, and gives his belt a tug to free the leather from the buckle.

Three sharp knocks ring out against the closed door.

“Benji, door open.”

He tries to pull away from her but Leslie whines and leans back with him until their lips separate with a pop. She buries her face in his neck. “We’re just studying, mom.”

The door creaks open followed by Julia’s head popping into the room.

“Studying,” she says dryly. “Studying - in your bedroom - on Valentine’s Day. Mhmm.” The sarcasm falls from her voice and she addresses Leslie kindly. “Hi, Leslie.”

Leslie twists to face her, mortified.“Hi, Mrs. Wyatt.”

“I’ll see you two in the family room in five minutes - with your textbooks.” Julia shakes her head before leaving the room.  _ “Studying,”  _ she mutters in disbelief.

***

The Indianapolis city lights shine brightly through the hotel window, casting shadows on the beige wall. They’re celebrating a successful victory at the Indiana Debate State Championship, eating cheap pizza and drinking from the minibar, all courtesy of Marlene Griggs-Knope’s credit card.

“You did so well today,” Leslie compliments Ben and pushes his hair back.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “You liked that rebuttal?”

“The one about how access to contraception actually lowers teen pregnancy rates? Oh my god, Ben, that was so hot.” She grows flustered and reaches into her backpack. “Benji,” she whispers breathily. “Let’s study.”

“But we don’t have our books with–“

It’s not until she pulls him in and pushes a plastic square package into his palm - vanilla flooding his senses - that he realizes her true intentions.

***

It wasn’t the first time that he did something for Leslie that he didn’t want to do, and he has a sneaking suspicion that it won’t be the last. He  _ does,  _ however, think this will be the most expensive thing that he’s done to make her happy when he wasn’t exactly enthused about it.

He pulls at his periwinkle colored tie - the one that matches the color of her dress - and watches as she descends the stairs leading to the stage. He flocks to her side and grabs her wrist, pulling her out the back door of the auditorium. She’d asked him to help her plan her escape after announcing the Prom King and Queen and he had every intention of following through with her request. Leslie kicks her heels off and gathers them in her hand before slipping her fingers between his. He tugs her closer, the two of them laughing uncontrollably as they make a break for his car. Leslie flops into the passenger seat unceremoniously and tosses her shoes in the back seat.

“Where to, m’lady?”

“Ramsett Park,” she huffs and pushes one of her cassettes into the reader.

“This one again?” Ben teases as the Fresh Prince begins to go into detail about back to school shopping with his mother, going on about twenty dollar shirts with butterfly collars.

“Parents _just_ don’t understand,” Leslie drawls, her voice low.

They pull into the park parking lot and Ben lets the car idle as they hold hands and discuss the other girls’ dresses and how the boys hardly danced with their dates. Leslie chalks it up to the lip syncing controversy surrounding New Kids on the Block to which Ben vehemently disagrees with. They talk about Leslie’s college acceptance rate - flawless, on account of her reaching the top five percent of the graduating class - and her plans to attend Indiana University in the next few months when she suddenly grows quiet.

“Ben,” she clears her throat. “Before you moved here, I didn’t really have a lot of friends. Yes, I’m in a lot of clubs and people know me by name,” she says when he opens his mouth to protest, “but I’ve never been close to someone like this. I’ve never been able to have just one person to talk to about politics and movies and music. There are nearly five and a half billion people on this planet and I never thought that I’d meet someone that is just… it for me. I never thought that I would find someone that would like me and accept me - all of me - for who I am. And,” Leslie’s voice shakes and she releases the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I guess what I’m trying to say, Ben,”

“Leslie,” Ben whispers, the dread growing in his stomach but he can’t say why. He just knows instinctively that what she’s about to say is going to destroy him, just like he knows that she never got to say goodbye to her father and that she wants to pursue a career in public service because she’s desperate to earn her mother’s approval. Tiny, seemingly insignificant bits of information that have weathered away at his heart, exposing the weaknesses and leaving cracks in their wake.

“I love you to Andromeda and back.”

The shadows dance across her face, headlights catching in her blue eyes - and that’s when he fully recognizes her.

The children in the dream fling the door open again with no regard for the room’s inhabitants, squealing and squirming with delight before tossing themselves onto the bed. Their previously hazy pajamas come into focus with searing clarity, all three of them wearing matching sets with reindeer and snowmen and jolly old men printed across the fabric. The little boys, the spitting images of their grandfathers when they were young, and the little girl that’s a carbon copy of her mother snuggle deeper against his chest with the announcement of Santa’s arrival only hours earlier. The woman from the dream rolls towards him languidly and is giving him that lovesick smile, the one that her baby-faced counterpart gave him just a moment ago, her hand over his heart, blissfully unaware of what was yet to come.

The lights grow more intense and wash over her pale skin.

“Leslie,” he chokes out. His breath catches on the beginning of tears and he feels his throat close, his voice drowned out by the blaring of a car horn and screeching tires until there’s nothing.

Nothing except vanilla.


End file.
